


Tell Me It's Real

by ThereIsNoTragedyInThat



Series: Know Thy Self [5]
Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Alcoholic Booker | Sebastien le Livre, BAMF Nile Freeman, Exiled Booker | Sebastien le Livre, F/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Nile Freeman & Nicky | Nicolò di Genova Friendship, Post-Canon, Pre-Slash, The start of something beautiful, poor booker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:27:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27710687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThereIsNoTragedyInThat/pseuds/ThereIsNoTragedyInThat
Summary: The cement floor is cold.It seeps into his legs, curled up beneath him and aching something fierce until that too starts to ebb away, replaced with a numbness that would be concerning if he hadn’t frozen to death too many times before. The wall too, seems to be made of thick stones, slathered with mortar and scraping roughly against the skin of his forearms, his wrists, which are in turn cuffed to a rusty old pipe.
Relationships: Booker | Sebastien le Livre/Nile Freeman
Series: Know Thy Self [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1953133
Comments: 2
Kudos: 72





	Tell Me It's Real

The cement floor is cold. 

It seeps into his legs, curled up beneath him and aching something fierce until that too starts to ebb away, replaced with a numbness that would be concerning if he hadn’t frozen to death too many times before. The wall too, seems to be made of thick stones, slathered with mortar and scraping roughly against the skin of his forearms, his wrists, which are in turn cuffed to a rusty old pipe. 

Sebastien licked at his dry lips, winced at the slight metallic taste that came from cracking them too many times, tried to swallow thickly around his clumsy tongue, throat parched and spasming. He found himself staring listlessly at the little drops of water that seeped from a hairline crack in the pipe, couldn’t quite bring himself to suckle on the yellowing liquid…he wasn’t that desperate yet. 

The room he was in was dark and bare, the only light coming from a crevice beneath the door that opened like clockwork three times a day. Besides himself, there was only a bucket in the far corner and puddles of stale water scattered across the dirty floor, conditions that did little to reveal the motives of his captors. 

They’d found him in a safehouse in France…he knew he had lingered too long but time had grown hazy, a deliberate choice to avoid watching the days pass too slowly for comfort. A hundred years was a very long time and if he could drink away a few dozen of them, well…it seemed like a good idea at the time. 

His shoes were gone and his socks, last time they came in, he swore he’d seen his toes turning purple, not that they cared. His immortality was no secret, they didn’t care to keep him alive, but they also hadn’t done anything yet. Sebastien got the impression they were waiting for something, for someone, that this was just a moment in a longer journey before delivering him to some other destination. 

Grunting lowly, he felt his thumb snap back into the place, the constant ache turning sharp for a split second before disappearing. It was stupid, he knew it was, but that didn’t stop him from breaking his hand again and again in a vain attempt to slip the cuffs. They were closer to shackles in design and had been tightened to the point that he’d felt his hands go numb over and over again, the skin turning purple and sickly until the last time, when they were fastened not quite so unforgivingly. 

Sebastien was pretty sure it had been five days, give or take. 

He was exhausted. 

Footsteps echoed from outside the room, making him tense, brows furrowing. It was difficult to tell, with no windows, the passing of time, still he was fairly certain this arrival was not his usual afternoon meal of stale bread and cheese or the opportunity to relieve himself. A familiar sound followed the footsteps, the brush of something being dragged across the floor roughly, uncaringly and his stomach twisted sickly. 

Sitting up from where he had been slumped against the wall he blinked rapidly as the door was thrown open and greying light filtered into the room, overwhelming after hours of darkness. Still, he tried to see, needed to make sure this wasn’t what he thought it was. 

The hope was short-lived. 

Two men dragged a body between them, clasping it around the arms and carelessly tossing it in the corner. Dread moved through Booker’s gut as he stared at Nile’s unconscious form, utterly unchanged since that day on the docks except for the blood coating the front of her shirt. 

One of the men were suddenly in front of him, eyes angry as a hand clenched around Sebastien’s throat, unforgiving as he was yanked to the side, wrists screaming in protest, forcing him to clench his jaw against the pain as he glared right back. 

The man’s French accent was abysmal, still the words were understandable, strangled as they were, “how many of you are there?” 

This was the first time they had tried to press him for information and Booker would be damned if he were an easy target, “I don’t-”

“Do not lie,” the man warned, his fingers digging into the skin of Booker’s throat, making him gag. “We know there is more than two.” 

A soft noise from Nile drew his gaze, her hands having been shackled to the same pipe, her body leaning heavily against the wall, face hidden in the crook of her arm. The kick to his side was not unexpected, yet the fire that suddenly seemed to roll through him was, pulling him from the hazy misery he’d been in these past months and making him surge up and into the man’s space, held back only by his bonds. 

“I don’t know,” he spit. 

Cruelty glinted in the depths of the man’s eyes, lips twitching in a familiar way, but Sebastian was not afraid, had suffered at the hands of far worse men than this. Although he would never admit it, he relished the thought of that low burning rage in his gut being stoked higher.

Just as the man’s fingers tightened around his throat, an alarm sounded from outside the room, its loud wailing noise grating on his ears and making Nile flinch where she still lay curled against the wall. For a second, just a minuscule moment, Booker thought he saw fear flash across the man’s face. 

The satisfaction was euphoric. 

With a grunt of command, the room was hastily vacated, the door slamming shut behind them, plunging the room into darkness once more. Regardless, Sebastien shifted closer to the pipe and tried to squint blearily at Nile’s form. He had not known her long and still he knew that she was not the kind to cower from her captives, not without a good reason. 

“Nile?”

She shifted, body moving sluggishly until the sound of something metal toppled to the floor, “Ugh, I think that one got stuck in my ribcage.” Despite himself, he laughed, the sound hoarse as it rattled out his dry throat and earning him what appeared to be an unimpressed huff. “It’s been four days Booker, tell me you aren’t still drunk.” 

There was no malice in her words, yet it still stung as sure as a slap. He hadn’t seen his family in months and the last thing he wanted was for them to think he’d been wiling away the time on the bottle, whether or not it was true. 

Only then, as his humor fled, did the rest of her words register, the implication that they had known nearly to the day, when he’d been kidnapped and had come for him. The emotion that swelled in his chest made his eyes sting, “four days?”

Nile was quiet for a moment before she sighed, “I may have been keeping tabs on you through Copley and I may or may not have been on my way to visit you when we discovered your apartment was ransacked.” 

Sebastien’s mouth opened and closed, trying to find the words to ask her why. He was in exile and he couldn’t imagine the others being alright with her breaking the pact, couldn’t fathom being the reason for even more strife among his family. He’d never been good with words, not like Joe and not like Nicky, couldn’t piece them together in a way that could express everything stirring beneath the surface of his skin.

Naturally, he didn’t even get the chance to try. 

Gunfire sounded somewhere in the building and his mind flipped like a switch to their current predicament, “what’s that?” 

“That would be Nicky,” Nile said, her voice betraying her grin. “I also might not have gone to visit you alone.” 

This was even less comprehensible than the idea of Nile slipping away from the others to visit him but he didn’t pay it any mind, instead groaning and slamming his head back against the wall at the mess they’d found themselves in. 

“What?” Nile demanded. 

“Nicky. If he gets himself killed trying to rescue me, Joe will tack on another hundred years, just watch him.” 

“He’ll be fine,” she replied absently. “Though he did promise to shoot you once he breaks us out for being such an idiot.” 

“That does sound like Nicky.”

“I promised to help.”

This time his laugh was properly startled, “you know I didn’t intend to get captured.”

“No, you were just reckless.” 

The accusation was fair, so he did not bother trying to defend himself, instead tracking the sound of gunfire as it crept closer to their location, “do the others know?”

Nile moved, her bonds jangling softly against the metal pipe, “well…we didn’t tell them that we were visiting you so it seemed like a good idea not to mention that we were also going to be engaging in a rescue mission.”

“Really?” he asked, incredulous. 

“Nicky took some convincing,” she admitted. “He also wasn’t going to actually see you; he was just accompanying me to France.” 

Sebastien would not admit how much that stung, he deserved it after all, “why were you visiting me?” 

There was a long pause where Booker thought she might not answer, especially with the gunfire coming from just outside the door now, a quiet noise on the knob, revealing Nicky must be trying out a key or two to unlock their door. 

“I missed you.” 

The door swung open and with it a beam of light that seemed to slice across Nile’s face like a spotlight, revealing soft, uncertain eyes and a quiet smile that he remembered from all those months ago outside the bar. 

All at once, he was reminded what it was like to be loved. 


End file.
